Master and His Pack Mule

The Slave Center:

Erotic Fantasy Fiction of Faggot Slavery

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Master and His Pack Mule

Part One

Disclaimer: This is a story of erotic fiction containing fantasy descriptions of Male-male slavery, which may include sexual acts, BDSM and nudity. It is a intended for adults only. You must be of legal adult age to read this work. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

My master lives in a simple suburban house far from the city center but close to all his basic needs of shopping and banking. In the warmer months, he keeps this slave outside in a small stable. Master dreams of living on a larger property, like a ranch, where his slave can live as his outdoor property at all times. But the best he can do now is use his suburban backyard.

When first purchased from The Slave Center, this slave’s buyer had this slave made permanently hairless all over. He believed a slave’s complete hairlessness showcased its status as property. Fortunately, in these times of legal slavery, a slave is never required to be clothed at all, anywhere, so, made thus hairless, there could never be any doubt as to the position in life of a hairless faggot.

My buyer was, I discovered, an early strong proponent of public slave nudity. While this position was controversial at first, an acceptance and even support of slave nudity began to take hold with the strong support of the younger generations. Those against allowing the nudity of slaves argued that humans are not to be naked in public. Those in favor of slave nudity argued that domesticated dogs, cattle, and horses do not need to clothed and, thus, neither does a slave. After years of argument and of keeping slave genital areas covered in public, a federal bill making slave nudity legal in all public spaces narrowly passed and remains in effect.

Thus, this slave hasn’t worn any clothing at all in years.

The man who purchased this slave gave it a good and very strict life in slavery, but, unfortunately, he passed away within a year after buying it. Fortunately, he had a will that made provisions for all of his owned goods. His son, Matt, inherited this slave and has maintained ownership of it ever since.

In these warmer months, like his father before him, Master keeps his slave totally nude, always. Permanent steel ankle and wrist restraints and wide steel collar define the slave. A 4-inch steel ball stretcher, attached to a 1/2 inch wide ring at the base of the slave genitals, holds the slave balls of obedience in place, down low from the body to further display the slave’s status as property. All of these things not only show others that it is a slave, but they also enable the slave to always feel, at its very core, that it is owned. Master displays his State Ownership Certificate in a frame on the wall in his den, and he carries his State Ownership ID Card with him at all times. The slave’s Official State Registration Number is tattooed on the bottoms of both feet, as is the standard practice.

On occasion, Master has reason to add more accoutrements to his slave body, such as on the days he does his banking and shopping. The local businesses are only a couple miles from his house. It is a pleasant walk through the suburban neighborhood where Master lives and then across only one major boulevard.

On this particular Saturday, after the usual routine of this slave serving its young Master his breakfast and then cleaning up his kitchen, Master ordered this slave outside to the stable, which includes a water spigot and hose, for the slave’s usual Saturday morning cleaning out. He said his slave needed to be extra careful this morning in making sure it was totally clean within. It occurred to this slave that it is always totally clean within, that its Masters have helped it be clean of its past and false perceptions of itself, leaving a pure slave, one free of interference from other notions of self, free of the false idea that it can be anything else in life but a man’s property. This slave knew what Master really meant, of course. He plugged his slave as many days as possible, and pretty much always on Saturday, when he was able to be with his slave all day long.

By the time my Master came into the stable, his slave was cleaned out and in proper kneeling position. His slave’s wrists were bound behind its back, as the permanent wrist restraints include rings with which this slave may simply push and connect the rings, effectively binding them together for its Master, and with little chance of self-release. Master had trained this slave well, and it always waited for him with wrists bound in this manner.

He came in to his stable, took a glance this slave’s way, and said: “Good faggot. We’re going to get ready to go out on my Saturday morning errands.” He didn’t need to announce this, but I think he liked to have his slave know what was what. His outing, his errands, his slave, his Saturday.

He was dressed in blue jeans and a navy blue tank top, revealing his soft tan, the light hair on his upper chest, his shapely arms and, when he raised his arms, his delicious pits. The tank hugged his pecs and showed his small but perky nipples. He had on his brown hiking boots, the ones he pretty much always wears when walking out and about.

The nipples on his slave are huge, made that way by extensive use of clamps. Master says that men have nipples and faggots have pain nubs, handles with which a man may effectively handle a faggot-slave. This slave’s years of experience being his slave has led it to conclude that he is absolutely right: slaves don’t have nipples. Slaves have pain nubs, convenient handles with which a master may control his property.

So, when this slave knelt for its Master, as it was now doing, with wrists locked behind its back, it thrust his pain nubs out for his easy access, as was Master’s standing order. And thrust down for easy access, as always, were the slave balls, but Master often ignored his slave genitals, other than to note his slave’s frequent hard ons.

He walked right up to his slave and, with both hands, grabbed each pain nub and applied full pressure, twisting a bit, but really just pressing and holding. He brought his body as close to his slave as he could while still having his hands on the pain nubs. His jeans and crotch were inches before the slave face. He was wearing the type of jeans that have become so popular of late with young men. Decades ago, form-fitting boxer briefs had become popular, underwear with full pouches for a man’s goods. These days, the younger generations were not so concerned about hiding themselves, and their jeans were tight at the crotch with full genital pouches like the boxer briefs of some years ago. There were even some jeans now being made that had a genital pouch made of materials other than denim, like linen, silk, and an almost shear mesh. It’s a delicious look. Finally, a fashion trend this slave could appreciate. Perhaps it is good for men to be proud of their manhood, to not feel like they need to cover and hide all the time. There must be some freedom in that.

This slave looked up to its Master’s face, as he had trained it to do when he was with his slave in this way. He looked down into his slave eyes with a soft expression, took a deep and relaxing breath, and said, “I love Saturdays!” This slave could tell that he loved his Saturdays, and this slave supposed he loved owning this slave and maybe even loved his slave, in a way, like one loves a dog or horse. This slave hoped, as it felt only love for its master.

After a few minutes, he released his grip on the slave pain nubs, went to the corner of the stable, and grabbed the mule boots, which this slave had become accustomed to over the last several months. He turned back toward his slave and ordered it to stand, which this slave did, if somewhat clumsily with its wrists locked behind its back. “Come,” he said softly, and this slave stepped toward its Master. He held one of the boots out and ordered his slave to step in. This required some balance, but this slave succeeded in getting its feet into each boot, with Master pulling the boots up and securing them. Once the boots were on, this slave was elevated by a few inches, for the boots were designed such that the ball of the foot supported the entire slave body with the heels being elevated by the firm raised sole of each boot. These soles kept the slave’s feet in proper mule-like position. This slave, this pack mule, could now only walk on the balls of its feet, but its heels were firmly supported within the boots

The front outer soles of the boots gave, somewhat, the impression of being horseshoes, but there were no actual hard horseshoes, just reasonably soft and thin rubber imitations. The overall effect on this slave was tremendous, though. How could a faggot not begin to feel like an actual animal while wearing these?

Master stood and said, “Open,” though he didn’t really need to. This slave saw the bit in his hand, and this was his Saturday routine. He placed the bit firmly in his slave mouth, made sure the tongue plate was in the correct position, and then locked the whole device into place at the back of his slave upper neck, thereby taking away any possibility of his mule making human speech. The bit helped his faggot slave further allow its true nature come to the fore: a loving and obedient animal owned in complete slavery.

Master’s Saturday morning routine felt great. He helped his slave relax into its animal self. He helped his slave feel his ownership. He was, once again, showing his slave that he is a master ready to fulfill the responsibilities of owning a faggot.

Next came something that Master had purchased only a few weeks before. It gave this slave some discomfort at first, but now this slave was becoming very used to it, as Master required.

This slave noticed the name of the device on the box the day Master brought it home and out to his stable. “Mule Pack,” the box said. It also stated that it is a Slave Center product.

For the last few Saturdays, Master placed the mule pack on his slave-mule back. It had several straps that came across the mule torso at various places, including the waist and chest. It even had straps that wrapped along the mule groin. These straps wrapped back up and attached to the actual pack at the small of the mule back, framing its buttocks like a traditional jock strap on a man.

Master released the wrist restraints that had been holding his slave hands behind its back, saying, “Let my hands hang loose.” He then fully attached the mule pack on his slave upper back. When the upper torso straps were fully secured, Master ordered, “Elbows behind,” and this slave complied, lifting its slave shoulders and bringing its elbows back and tight against its flank. Master then attached the mule pack upper arm restraints to his slave arms, just above the elbows. These held the arms snugly in place and made the forearms useless appendages that just sort of dangled in front of the slave body.

Once finished, Master stood in front of his slave and held up his leather leash with the clip at the end that fits his slave septum piercing. He attached the leash and then let it drop out of his hand so that it just hung from his slave nose.

“I am not finished, my slave,” he uttered. “I like using my slave as my pack mule so much that I bought something new.” He retrieved a box from a small closet within the stable. The box read, “Mule Tail Butt Plug, Large.” More words across the box proclaimed, “Help your slave be the pack mule it is!” Another Slave Center product.

“I think you're going to enjoy this, faggot,” he said as he held the plug up for me to see. It was indeed large, but no larger than anything this slave had become able to take with reasonable comfort. It had a long mule tail hanging from it, which hung down nearly 3 feet. This slave liked the color of the tail, a nice rich brown.

“Show me my pack mule eyes,” Master ordered as he peered into them. “Show me my slave. Look into my eyes, the eyes of its Master. Show me how much my faggot appreciates me.”

We had our eye-to-eye moment, till after a minute or so, Master said, “Start relaxing my slave asshole because my new mule tail is going in quickly.”

This slave grunted through the bit as Master took hold of his leash, grabbing it just inches from the slave nose where it was connected, and led his slave outside to the front of the stable, to his hitching post. He pulled the leash tight and made his slave bend forward as he wrapped the leash around the post and effectively secured his servant-property with its ass sticking far out.

He stepped back into the stable momentarily and came out with a bottle of slave lube. He began lubing the plug up in front of his slave eyes, purposely, this slave supposed, within his slave field of vision. “My pack mule is going to have a nice tail now, as it deserves. It’s such a good boy.” Then he moved to the rear end of his slave and fondled his slave asshole a little as he began lubing it up. This slave so truly loves when he does that, and it relaxed the anal sphincter onto his hand, inviting it to enter. He put a fourth finger through the sphincter and spread the slave lube around. Delicious to a slave, and to a pack mule.

“Okay, my Saturday mule, I am going to put this right where it belongs. It’ll give my slave a more natural look.” With that he quickly and forcefully shoved the plug up his slave ass within a few seconds. And did it hurt! That was a fast stretch. He did not make it hurt because he enjoyed giving pain. He did not do this because he thought his slave somehow deserved it. He did not do this for his own sense of eroticism or satisfaction. He did this because he wanted a particular result from his slave. He wanted his slave in full animal mode quickly, and he knew this would help make it happen. This slave bucked a little, as much as it could given it was attached to a hitching post. His slave’s breathing became fast, hard and deep. “Good mule. Let any false sense of being a man go and just be what you are: my property, my slave, my pack mule.” Master then retrieved two straps this slave had not seen before. In color and material they seemed to match the mule pack, so perhaps the straps were part of the pack’s original fittings. Master snapped them to the mule pack near his slave lower back, brought them down and criss-crossed them through the ring at the base of the butt plug tail, brought them on either side of the slave genitals, and snapped the straps onto the front waist of the mule pack, effectively prohibiting the plug from either falling out or being pushed out. The mule was fully plugged and tailed.

Master then brushed a hand softly, lovingly, across his slave flank, as he walked toward the front of his slave, his hand going from about the slave waist all the way up the left side of the slave, brushing right over the straps of the mule pack, to where Master’s hand could take a quick detour and squeeze the left pain nub, hard, as a way to help his slave know what he expected out of it today.

“Easy, faggot,” he cooed. “Relax. I’m taking it out as my pack mule again today, and I am excited that I could give it a full tail. It looks right.”

He left his slave there, attached to the hitching post, its new tail dangling down its legs, and he walked into his house and retrieved whatever he needed. He came back out after about 10 minutes, this slave supposes, though time doesn’t matter much to a mule.

Master walked out into his modest backyard so that he could turn back and get a look at his pack mule. This slave thinks he took some photographs. “First day fully outfitted,” this slave thinks Master said aloud to himself. My Master likes owning this faggot, surely. He walked back toward his mule, put his phone back into his pocket, and said, “Now, let’s see how well my pack mule can work while properly outfitted.”

He unwrapped the leash from around the hitching post and brought his mule back to a full upright position, high up on its hoof boots. The mule pack was not fully extended in the back, not ready for use. It was squeezed closed and flat up against the pack mule back, making it very easy for the mule to walk, even in mule-hoof boots.

“Come on. Let’s go have a nice morning,” Master said in a jolly tone, and with the leash in his mule nose on one end and in Master’s hand on the other, off he went, out the gate to the front of his house and down the sidewalk, to run his weekly Saturday morning errands.